


We Will Make Him Run

by MamaMystique



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, But maybe if i write this, F/M, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, World Enough And Time, it won't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaMystique/pseuds/MamaMystique
Summary: He never told her about the crying.Then again, she never told him about this.





	We Will Make Him Run

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for writing this but I figured maybe if I did, it won't happen.

_Had we but world enough and time..._

She can’t hear him. Him, with his...stupid hair, his stupid jacket. Magician’s jacket. Silly, silly old fool, running around, what was it Bill had said? “Penguin...with his ass on...fire…”

“Missy?”

Oh there he is. The ringing has stopped. He’s bleeding. Black and white and red all over. Dead penguin.

She forces a smile and something is quite wrong in that she can’t feel her body. His warmth is present but her control is not, melting like dead weight in his arms. There was that word again. She wants to look, wants to force her head up but she can’t, and the way he’s holding her - so awkward - as if he can’t touch her middle. Like there’s something in the way.

“Doctor, I’m feeling...a bit ill.” There is a weak chuckle on her lips, and it’s odd the way her chest hums with the sound. It’s all garbled, like that time she tried to get the tv to be a microwave. Television dinner. 70 years in the vault, 70 years his prisoner, 70 years with him. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

“Missy,” he smiles down at her, but his eyes are sad, his voice is desperate, “it’s okay. You’re in shock. Missy. Missy...listen to me, you need to regenerate. Yeah?”

She furrows her brow. “What?”

“Regenerate. You...you got yourself pretty well hurt but I’m here now, things are okay. You’re going to be okay-” his voice cracks and in that instant, she knows he’s not talking to her. She prays he isn’t.

He doesn’t know. Of course he couldn’t, she never told him. Five hundred and seven, five hundred and seven faces, no less...no more. “I’m-” there is a sting of pain that shoots up her spine, all three brainstems lighting up with searing hot fire, her body trying to fall back on the one thing she had always had, the one thing she didn’t have anymore. All gone. All alone. No more to be found.

But she had gotten him back, hadn’t she?

“I’m going to- have to disappoint you one- last time old man.” It hurts. God it hurts, everything hurts, and she liked it better when she couldn’t feel anything, but now she can feel it all, the heat in her abdomen, the sharp sensation of something - something through her corset - her lungs stuttering, and her hearts fading. They’re trying, they are trying for HIM and she supposes this is what good is, isn’t it? When your hearts start beating not for yourself, but for someone else. “One last disappointment. Have to- have to keep you- on your toes-”

He’s going to cry and she doesn’t want him to. “No,” he orders, demands, “no you’re not pulling this again. You’re going to regenerate. You’re going to, and you’re- going back to the vault you-”

One trembling finger rises to press to his lips, and it isn’t until she lets it fall that she realizes there is blood on it - that the blood he is wearing it’s...it’s all hers, isn’t it? How...romantic.

Missy lets her eyes close, she is tired, but he jostles her slightly until she forces them back open. “R-rude,” she coughs.

“Regenerate! Please, Missy, you win. You win, you always win, but you- you’re going to- come on!” He’s shouting now and it’s never suited him.

Idly she shakes her head. “Not this- time.”

“Yes this time.”

“No-” a few quick breaths, it’s getting harder, every ounce of her energy poured into trying to resume those familiar movements. “Five- five-” _concentrate!_ “Five hundred and seven.”

Her beloved idiot shakes his head. “Missy, you’re not-”

“Yes.”

They stare at each other for a long beat - eight dying beats - before his lips part, and his eyes scrunch, and there is an awful, awful sound that escapes from him, the cry of a wounded animal, screaming into a void, praying for it’s echo to answer. It’s terrible, and Missy has half a mind to shush him but she can’t. “Last-” she gasps, her skin paling, her fingers turning cold, “-call.”

“No,” he sobs, eyes slammed shut, thick tears welling in the corners, spilling down his sunken cheeks when he finally opens them to meet hers. “No, Missy- you can’t.”

“But I can,” she whispers, “isn’t it like you said? You need to...hear the music.” Missy pants, a soft smile dimpling her features, “now look who- isn’t listening.”

There will be no acceptance from her beloved Theta. He can’t...he was never good with this. Missy knows the inevitable always comes. He tries to fight it off, kicking and screaming. She is content to stand in the void, with open arms.

His tears roll off his chin and hit her jaw, and the sudden sensation is a welcome one. “That’s my job,” she murmurs.  
He sobs, utterly broken, clutching her too tight. “Missy- Missy please- every star, you- you promised me every star- you- you promised.” One of his hands is stroking her hair, becoming tangled, but he doesn’t attempt to free himself. Instead, he presses their foreheads together. Clever boy.

_I’m here,_ she tells him, spilling forth a wealth of memories, every moment she has of him, tucked away, saved, everything she ever held on to. He can hold it now. _You can still take me with you._

_I want you with me. I can’t see them without you, you need to be here, you’re...all I have. I can’t go without you._

_Theta._

Missy smiles, waits for him to breathe, leans up that fraction of a distance to kiss his nose.

_Yes you can._ She knows he can. Knows he will. _Like an awesome hero._

He tries to laugh but he can’t.

_I love you._

She isn’t sure which of them says it – or if they say it at all – but she knows it’s true.

“Sing for me?”

Dutifully he nods, his eyes locked with hers, unwavering even as his song trembles, barely audible, some silly Gallifreyan rhyme, continuing past the breaks of his tears, even after her eyes close.  
She kills him for the very last time; four hearts stop.

Wherever she went, he promised to follow. But he can’t follow her here, not yet. An old man dies, clutching a woman’s body.

Two hearts start.


End file.
